


1984

by moon_custafer



Series: The Bureaucracy of the Otherworld Was Surprisingly Generous When It Came to Transportation [6]
Category: Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension, Norse Mythology, Testament of Doctor Mabuse
Genre: 1980s, Brief allusion to another movie of the period, Cold War, Gen, Vignette, World Crime League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_custafer/pseuds/moon_custafer
Summary: “Pecos and Mrs. Johnson are checking up on all WCL operatives known to be currently in the region; and Reno and Perfect Tommy are keeping an eye on the western side of Checkpoint Charlie. We’ll just have to trust the East Germans to watch their side, but if the WCL are pushing it from the east side, it stands to reason their target is something in this half of the city.”





	1984

Originally, they’d just been visiting West Berlin as The Hong Kong Cavaliers, booked as part of the line-up for a music festival. Then when the World Crime League, using space dilation, had tried to shift the Wall a small but significant two blocks westward, Buckaroo had called President Widmark (now out of hospital) who had subsequently set up a conference call with Chancellor Kohl and eventually, General Secretary Honecker, to offer them Team Banzai’s assistance in the crisis.

“After all, we’re guests in this country, and guests ought to help out,” Buckaroo had said when Reno Nevada had wanted to just jump right into it, “but we’d better ask first, before we end up putting the dishes away in the wrong cupboard.”

“Won’t the East Germans want to just keep the extra bit of Berlin?” asked Perfect Tommy.

“They’re in no mood to endanger the detente between the Western powers and the Soviets,“ Buckaroo reminded him. “Especially not after that near-miss a few months back with the Lectroids. Besides, the space dilator is a hazard to all life— not something they want buzzing away on their side of the city.”

* * *

Now, Buckaroo and New Jersey were putting their heads together with an international team of physicists, trying to work out a way to reverse the dilation without physically or psychically harming the twenty-three people the East German government admitted had been caught in the distortion. It would have been a much easier task without that complication, and the lives that hung in the balance were why Dr. Banzai had brought along New Jersey, who, in his medical identity as Dr. Sidney Zweibel, knew about as much about the finer points of human physiology as anyone in the northern hemisphere.

“You see,” New Jersey was saying, “the people caught in the distortion are at risk of a combination of the bends— you know, like deep-sea divers who surface too fast— what’s, what’s the German term for “the bends?”

“Die taucherkrankheit,” offered an ex-naval nuclear physicist.

“Yes, well _that,_ plus crush syndrome and maybe elements of frostbite if they’re extra unlucky. All multiplied by a factor of, oh, at least ten,” the surgeon continued.

“So to begin, we must find a slow, controlled way to reverse the space dilation,” mused the helpful ex-navy scientist.

“That part, I’m confident we can manage,” Buckaroo said. “The East Germans have already found the dilator and had the sense not to touch it without an instruction manual; Dr. Hikita is already on his way from the States and ought to be here in a few hours’ time. Between us we ought to be able to crack it.”

“We just need to crack the dilator without cracking any people,” New Jersey added. He still looked worried.

“What if the World Crime League try to interfere?” asked another of the German scientists.

“Pecos and Mrs. Johnson are checking up on all WCL operatives known to be currently in the region; and Reno and Perfect Tommy are keeping an eye on the western side of Checkpoint Charlie. We’ll just have to trust the East Germans to watch their side, but if the WCL are pushing it from the east side, it stands to reason their target is something in this half of the city.”

* * *

“Perfect Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a couple of strange people in that crowd of bystanders.”

“We’re in a major European city during a music festival, of course you’re going to see an few oddballs. But anyone up to no good will be trying like blazes to look normal.”

“No, but that’s just it. I think these guys are using some kind of high-tech camouflage or something. See, on the edge of the crowd?”

Perfect Tommy ran a hand through his immaculate hair and glanced at the knot of people on the street corner:

“‘Fraid I don’t see what you’re driving at, Reno.”

“Count them. Just the ones right on the corner.”

Perfect Tommy made a quick notation.

“Done.”

“Alright,” said Reno, “Now just sort of glance at the group out of the corner of your eye, and count again.”

Tommy did so, and gave a low whistle.

“You ain’t kidding. Which two are the ringers? The fat man in the hat, and the little anxious-looking fellow?”

“That’s how I see it. World Crime League?”

Perfect Tommy frowned, perfectly.

“They don’t look quite like WCL,” he said. “Too...”

“Yeah.” 

* * *

“They’ve spotted us.”

The Inspector sighed heavily:

“Skuld said they were smart. And also that we mustn’t team up with them. Too many questions.”

“If we move on, it’ll confirm their suspicions.”

“It will. But if we lose them quickly enough, we’ll just be a minor distraction from their case.” Taking Hoffmeister’s arm, Lohmann stepped sideways out of the land of the living. He hoped this would work— Skuld had showed him the trick recently, but he’d yet to use it in the field.

* * *

Reno pinched the bridge of his nose.

”Perfect Tommy? What were we talking about just now?”

“Just scanning the crowd for suspicious characters.”

”Right. I must still be jet-lagged.”

”I can spot you a few minutes if you want to get a coffee from that little coffeehouse over there.”

”Thanks, pal. Oh, Tommy? What’s the German for “coffee?””

”Kaffee.”

”Well that oughtta make things easy.”

* * *

The two otherworldly detectives were still on the same street, but the light was different, the Wall permeable, and the distortions created by the World Crime League’s dilator much more visible.

Two figures, dressed much like themselves but winged, were seated in casual though attentive postures on the front steps of a nearby edifice.

  
“Don’t say anything unless they speak first,” Lohmann whispered to Hoffmeister as they walked down the street towards them. “They’re our side, but a different Department.”

One of the angels cocked his head, birdlike, as they passed by, but the other studiously ignored them, and neither spoke. Hoffmeister breathed a sigh when he and the Inspector reached the corner, and then thought to himself what a funny thing was habit— neither of them had needed to breathe in decades.

  
“It’d be simpler,” he said to Lohmann, “if we could work with these Americans— since it’s really the same case.”

  
“They’re scientists,” said his colleague, scratching his jaw. “You can’t just say your identity is hush-hush— it makes them all the more eager to know who and what you are. We’d better let them fight Mabuse’s disciples from their end, while we keep his notebook from falling into the wrong hands.”

Hoffmeister nodded:

”I wish Miss Skuld were here,” he added.

”You and me both. But she said she one of the scientists might recognize her— apparently they met on a case she worked alone in 1938. Someplace called Princeton?”


End file.
